


Renegade

by Skull_Bearer



Series: Anteverse Refugee [4]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hive Mind, Kaiju (Pacific Rim), Kaiju Hermann Gottlieb, M/M, POV Nonhuman, Pacific Rim sequel, the Breach opens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 21:12:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1757141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skull_Bearer/pseuds/Skull_Bearer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>We broke in, we stole your tech, we blew you up. Come and get us.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Renegade

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to Exile, Assimilationist and Between the Wars
> 
> Beta by the ever-perfect sherriaisling.

"Well?" Marshall Hansen is a looming presence over Hermann's left shoulder.

He tries to ignore him, and the prickle of cold nerves,focusing on the display. The display he has been trying not to beat his head against for the past three months. "The sensors and data we have are enough to provide us with direction over this side of the Breach. The sensors allow for basic control: to open or close, or restrict how wide it is allowed to dilate."

"But?"

"But," Hermann brings up the display of the old Breach. "While we can open it, and code it to accept our own creations, control of this theoretical new Throat is proving- difficult." He indicates the first few layers between the Breach and the Anteverse and the monitors flash up the appropriate calculations. "We can hold this far down. However, beyond that- I theorise this is where the Anteverse's own laws start to have effect. Our numbers simply start to- break down." The equations on the monitors grow more and more confused the further down they go, and by the time they reach the Anteverse, they are complete gibberish. "Their laws are not ours. Whatever means the Masters use to control the Breach are alien to us."

"But you can keep the Breach from opening."

"Theoretically."

"We don't have time for that. Yes or no?"

"Practically, no." Hermann sits back, glowering at the display through his glasses. "They have control of the Throat. Even assuming we get prior warning, they would be able to force their way through, even if this meant opening another Breach nearby."

"So we need control of the new Throat."

"Here, there are two options. One is definitely preferable, and both depend on the actions of the- other side." He senses more than sees the Marshall nod, and carries on. "The first supposes that the Masters do not attempt to open the Breach in the near future. Given enough time, we should be able to brute force our way through, even if through sheer trial and error."

"And you're doing that?"

"I have several teams working on this problem, yes." In that promising experts are sitting in total boredom as a result.

"And how long until you get through?"

Hermann winces. This is the bad news. "Approximately a decade."

Marshall Hansen is silent. "You can't cut that down?"

"If you can convince a major university to send us a quantum computer, we could have it down to four to five years." Both Hermann and Newt have already tried, but quantum computers are like hen's teeth, and none of the few universities who still have them want to part with their precious treasures.

"I'll give it a go. And what's the other option?"

Hermann punches in another key, the display changes to a holographic projection of the data _Gipsy Danger_ sent through. "We have managed to get this far thanks to the information sent on the Breach's collapse. Should it reopen, our instruments will be able to read the information broadcast from the Anteverse. They must have a key for translating their method into a form that functions in our universe, and once we have that key, fully decoding the Throat should take a week or so."

"But they'll have opened the Breach." Hansen sighs.

Hermann nods. "The downsides are obvious."

Hansen pinches the bridge of his nose. His hair is fully grey now. The last two years have not been kind to him. "How long do you think we have?"

"We have no way of knowing. Time does not work the way we understand it on that side."

"Well, it's something. Everyone's been waiting for something to happen; I need to throw them a bone. Now," He turns to Newt, "You had something to show me, Dr Geiszler?"

 _Oh no_. "Newton, are you seriously-"

"Dude, just hear me out." Newt's grinning. The idiotic, blind idealistic disaster of his project strewn on the desk behind him. "It's a weapon. Now, the problem we've been having with using conventional weapons against the Kaiju is that we end up trashing our own planet, right? Too many nukes and we've got radioactive oceans and all that. So, me and my team have been working on something that targets only the Kaiju, no impact on us, or anyone else on Earth."

He hops back to sit on the desk.  It's completely unprofessional, but this whole mess is already such an awful idea Hermann can't do anything but bury his face in his hands and wait. "So! What have the Kaiju got that nothing on Earth has? They have a hivemind. Now, my weapon here-" he pats the contraption, "disrupts radiowaves. It's tuned into only one frequency, and that's the frequency the Kaiju broadcast at. I took the readings from the two Drifts I did, and measured the brainwaves of the Kaiju. Both are identical. So, I set this up. It sends out a frequency broadcast, just white noise-" Rubbish, knowing Newt, he's probably recorded a revolutionary speech - "that blocks the hivemind."

"And what'll that do?" Hansen looks unconvinced.

"Absolutely nothing." Hermann snaps.

"Oh, come on!" Newt waves his hands. "My data-"

"Sample sizes of one are hardly reliable!"

"You don't know that-"

"They are _insane_ , as you are perfectly aware-"

"Shut up, both of you!" Marshall Hansen has his hands up as though warding them off. "What's it _supposed_ to do?"

Newt glares at Hermann, "The Kaiju are controlled by the hivemind. Their behaviour makes no sense otherwise. Why would anything just start attacking a heavily built up area for no reason? There's no food, they're not defending territory, and even if they were, the damage and noise from the missiles would probably scare them off. Mutavore attacked the Sydney wall for an hour before she got through. What animal would do that? They're being driven, forced into attacking us-"

Hermann can't help it. "They are insane, driven to attack the first thing that moves-"

"Trespasser travelled more than _three thousand miles_ to get to San Francisco, and the first we heard about him was when he took down the Golden Gate Bridge. If you're right, don't you think he'd have gone for a few fishing ships first- hell, Hawaii is like half the distance, wouldn't he have hit that?"

Nothing comes to mind at once, so Hermann has to simply glare and shake his head.

Newton catches his breath and turns back to Hansen. "Look. They're mad, he's right, but they are deliberately targeting us. If I can remove that, it'll slow them down. It'll give us more time to get Jaegers into position; they won't be going straight for inhabited areas any more. And if there's more than one of them, it'll keep them from working together. Hell, they'll probably go for _each other_ before they reach land-"

"You cannot know that-"

"Yeah? What are they trained on, in the Anteverse? 'Cause it isn't Jaegers. They're trained by fighting each other," to Hansen, "remove the hivemind, they'll just do that again. If they don't just come to their senses and run-"

"Oh, _please_ -"

" _Ok, enough_." The Marshall takes a deep breath. "Turn it on, let’s see.”

Hansen nods, and Newt presses a key.

A hideous off-key white noise starts shrieking inside Hermann's ears. It is _intolerable_ , echoing blindly inside his head until he just wants to start _beating it against something_ just to make it stop.

Then it ends, and Hermann is panting and horribly, horribly cold. Newt walks over and touches his shoulder, and the unbearably empty feeling fades. Both of them back to where they should be, occupying some space of the other's brain.

Marshall Hansen is shaking his head wildly, clawing at his temples. " _Fuck_ , what was that!"

Newt blinks. "You felt it too? That's- I mean, how-"

The door opens. Outside is Tendo Choi and a dozen angry Jaeger pilots. "Marshall, you've got to come. Something's fried all the PONS systems in the building-"

"Congratulations." Hermann growls, trying to rub out the echoing ache inside his skull. "You have made a truly dangerous weapon, for the other side."

"Oh, shut up dude." Newt thumps him on the shoulder. "Since when do the Jaeger pilots broadcast on the same frequency?" He slumps over a little, and Hermann feels somewhat sorry for him.

Somewhat.

Marshall Hansen finishes his explanation, and waves Choi and the pilots off. Then he turns back to them. "How soon can this be weaponised?"

Hermann nearly chokes, "Marshall, this machine is more of a danger to us than to the Kaiju, if you think-"

" _I_ decide if something is worth our time!" Hansen snaps. "And I need you to start looking if we can broadcast on other frequencies. Keep us out of the blast radius. Now," back to Newt, "How long, Doctor?"

"Um," Newt blinks. "Well, now, if you want. I can send you the schematics anytime and help you install them. But- um, the Jaegers-"

Marshall Hansen looks between them a moment then sighs, he looks very tired. "Look, this isn't an easy time. The public wants certainty, and they want blood. After everything that's happened, they don't want us just to be guarding the borders any more. They want us to take the fight to the Kaiju. And if Doctor Gottlieb thinks he can open us up a way, we'll take it."

Hermann swallows, muscles suddenly tense, "Sir, are you considering-"

"Sending an expeditionary force through the Breach?" He runs his hand through his hair. "I can't pretend this weapon of yours is what I was hoping for, but we'll need everything we can get. If nothing else, it should work to cover our retreat if we can set it off after the Jaegers are out of the Anteverse. You can make it do that?"

Newt nods, "Um- you'll probably need several to set up the right resonance if you want to cover a big area, but we could probably set them up like mines- or maybe grenades. As long as the Breach is open, we should probably be able to control them from outside- even here."

Hansen nods. "Well, you know what to do. We'll need you for another press conference. Make it clear we're not just waiting to get eaten."

He leaves. Hermann is too stunned to salute.

 

* * *

 

 

"Well?" Newt looks up from his pile of junk when Hermann comes back in. He sits down heavily on his chair and stretches out his leg, aching after long hours spent picking through the Jaegers' PONS systems. "How'd it go?"

"Wonderfully." Hermann snarls through gritted teeth. "We managed to find another working frequency. Unfortunately this change will  require an entirely new PONS setup, and replacing all the wiring inside every Jaeger."

"Oh. Shit." Newt comes over.

Hermann kneads at his aching, cramped muscles. "Quite." Newt crouches down beside him and takes over. Fingers digging through the cover of human flesh to the knots of muscle underneath. Hermann drops his head back and sighs, the pain slowly fading. "They are putting in new specifications for future production, but everything made until now is vulnerable."

Newt is quiet, and Hermann dares to hope that will be it for this discussion-

"Look, I know you think this is stupid-" Evidently not.

"It is not simply stupid." Hermann growls, _"It is dangerous_ , what you are risking-"

"You said we had a sample size of one, and yeah, that's right, we do. The moment you got out _you fucking defected_. I don't care what you say; if that's the only sample it's a good one."

"They are not sentient. They are mad. If you think you are somehow _freeing them_ -"

Newt digs his thumbs into the taut remains of Hermann's thigh, it feels far too good. "Look, I've got to try. Hansen thinks it might work-"

"The Marshall is desperate. He would have taken whatever you gave him. What you gave him is next to useless."

"Fuck- just- why are you being like this?" Newt gets up and sits on the edge of Hermann's desk. "Do you want to blow them up? You know- _you've seen them_. They're not monsters or- evil - they don't deserve this!"

"They are mad." The words come numb to Hermann's tongue. "They are mad. Killing them is- a kindness. That life- that world - is not worth living. You must have seen that."

Newt goes still. His hand falls to Hermann's neck, thumb coming up to rub against his neck, his jaw. "You don't mean that. You can't say that."

Hermann nods, looks away. Spits the words out. "If this were not an option, it would have been- better."

"Don't." Newt's hand drops to his shoulder, clenching tight on false human skin. "I'm trying to give them that option, don't you get it? That's worth it, isn't it?"

"Not for this price!" Does he not _understand_? "You could have made anything else in two years! Something that we could practically rely on- God knows you are good enough - Something we know could kill them, not an idealist _toy_ -"

Newt gets up, starts pacing. "I'm not making some mass murdering biological weapon! _Fuck_ , that's just _sick_ -"

Hermann stands, bracing himself on the chair. "And is that worth the lives of everyone on Earth? That is what you are gambling with. We could kill them, for certain, and you choose not to!"

"I'm not doing that! Are you mad? What do you think would happen to _you_ if I did that? Fuck-"

Hermann looks away. The numbers are fairly sound on that one.

"No. _Fuck no_. Are you fucking insane-" Newt's voice shakes.

"You cannot expect my life to outweigh those of everyone on this planet." Simple arithmetic.

"Shut up! You're not saying this! You're fucking not-"

"Do you think I would survive if the Masters succeed? Do you think I would _want_ to-"

 _"Shut up!"_ Newt screams. He is shaking, hair wild and face damp. "Stop talking- _Fuck_ \- just fucking stop please!"

Hermann shuts up.  Gets up and crosses over to Newt. Holds him. He burns in his arms, shaking and close to tears. "I am sorry. I should not-"

"Just shut up." Newt's voice is muffled by his jacket. "Just- don't fucking talk, okay?"

Hermann rests his face against Newt's hair, and tries not to think of anything.

It hurts. It hurts because Hermann would like so very much for Newton's plan to work. It is no less than what Hermann would expect from this place, from someone like Newt.  It’sbeautiful. Bright and sweet and perfect and so utterly, utterly human. And that is why it will never work. It will shatter and break on the claws of the Masters, and it will fail. There will be no freedom, no salvation. Just mad creatures unleashed from the only chains that held them. More damage. More blood.

There is no hope in the Anteverse. Only someone as delusional as Newton could imagine it. Hermann loves him for it, more than he could ever express, but he will not let him risk death for everyone for something that is not there. Will never be there.

Newt must have felt something of that, because he looks up. His eyes are red and damp. "Fortune favours the brave, remember?" He tries to smile.

Yes. In no other world but this.

 

* * *

 

 

Newt jerks awake.

He doesn't pick upon why for a few seconds. Hermann's flat is dark, and Hermann himself is curled up warm against him, newly grown skin soft and tender, the new marks on Newt's neck sting sweetly.

Then the beeping starts again. Newt fumbles with his phone for a few moments before it sinks in that it's not coming from his phone.

It's coming from Hermann's laptop.

Something in Newt explodes in adrenaline. _"Shit!"_ He throws himself out of bed and falls flat on his face, feet knotted in the blankets.

Hermann sits bolt upright, eyes wide. " _No. Gott_ -" He stumbles over to the laptop.

Newt untangles himself and rolls to his feet. "Is it- Hermann, is that-"

" _A moment_!" Hermann grits his teeth. He's stark naked, knotted up inside his own skin and hunched over the laptop. "Seven-forty-seven AM. Old layout. No dilation- yet. _Sheisse_ -"

Newt pulls on his underwear and grabs his pants. There's an odd feeling in his stomach, like suddenly being on a very familiar rollercoaster. "How long?"

"Assuming the dilation starts now, forty-five minutes before anything makes land." Hermann pulls away and starts throwing on his clothes.

"Hermann, we're an _hour_ from the Shatterdome!" Newt yanks his shirt on.

"Then we hope it does not make land here!" Hermann snaps.

Newt doesn't bother doing up his boots, just shoves them on and runs downstairs to start the Vespa while Hermann is sorting out his hundred or so layers.

His phone rings, it's Hansen. Newt swears, "Marshall, we know, we're coming." And hangs up.

Hermann clatters down, "I am not riding that."

Newt throws him the helmet. "We're not going to wait for a taxi. Get on."

"You are not wearing a helmet!" Hermann gets on the back anyway.

"Really not a problem right now!" Newt kicks it off, Hermann hangs on to him so tightly Newt's expecting new claw marks in his jacket.

The traffic outside is idiotically normal. No one knows yet. If it does come here, and the sirens start to wail- More than two years of peace, and now-

Newt hunches lower over the handlebars, he's breaking about every traffic law, but they needed to get to the Shatterdome half an hour ago.

Hermann shouts something at him about the speed, but fuck that, he remembers Otachi. If a Kaiju does make land here they'll be primary targets one and two and while Newt loves his Vespa there's no way it'll be able to outrun _that_.

They burn about three red lights, and it's sheer dumb luck they don't get stopped. The drive takes forty minutes, which has to be some kind of a record, and when they get to the outskirts Newt grits his teeth, guns the engine and charges headlong into the BuenaKai picketing outside.

"Out of the way!" Hermann roars.

The bastards dart left and right as they power through. Newt kicks down the stand and helps Hermann off before they dash inside. Newt spares a moment's sad thought for the probable fate of his Vespa at the hands of the BuenaKai, but that only lasts a moment because _giant fucking Kaiju Newt, focus!_

The warning alarms are blaring, but proximity are still silent, and they almost run headlong into the Marshall. "Herc!" Newt tries to catch his breath. "What's happening? We got here-"

"There's nothing." Hansen must have been coming to meet them; he turns around and follows them to their lab. "Your teams are watching it, but so far nothing's come through."

"Fuck." Newt gasps in relief.

"Any change?" Hermann's face is tight, "The last we saw there had been no dilation-"

"I don't know, I've been scrambling the Jaegers-" The alarm suddenly cuts out.

"What is this-" Hermann barges past them and into one of the sub labs. "What is happening?"

Diane looks up from the display, face pale and eyes bright. "We don't- it just _closed_ -"

Hermann pushes her out of the way and draws up the display, hammering something incoherent on the keys. "Were the instruments running?"

"All the time."

"We have all the recordings?"

"They're still going."

" _What's going on!_ " Hansen snaps.

Hermann straightens, there's a glint in his eyes and he's almost smiling. "The Breach is closed again. The instruments worked and we have the key." He turns to the team. "Start on the decoding, we may not have much time-"

Hansen closes on him. " _What's happening!_ What came through-"

Diane leans back. "Nothing Marshall- or nothing of any size. A very small dilation, then a close. We thought it might be a test of some kind."

"The issue is that we do not know what to expect." Hermann is huddled over a computer again. "The first readings are over twenty years old now, and too crude."

"So they were just- trying it out." Herc sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "How long have we got?"

"We have no way of telling." Hermann doesn't look up from the display. "Anything from hours to a week. Maybe more than one, but I doubt it. Have your Rangers ready Marshall."

Hansen takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and opens them. "Carry on decoding the Breach. Geiszler," He turns to Newt, "Make sure this weapon of yours is ready, we might be deploying it very soon."

 

* * *

 

 

It takes hours. Long, agonising hours when half of Hermann's mind is hanging onto the alarm, waiting for it to go off again.

Even with half his mind, they have the key now. The reverse of their own code; the broken, shrieking numbers from the Anteverse slowly changing to mirror their own. It is revolting to look on, blasphemy through arithmetic, a vivid reminder of the hands it originated from and for a moment Hermann freezes. It suddenly seems insane – suicidal - he is pitching his skill against the Masters. What chance is he expected to have? How can he hope to match _them_ , let along best _them_?

But... they can mirror the code now, copy it and it won't take long before they can manipulate it. A few days, maybe less. _Bitte Gott_ a week _please_.

The lab is horribly silent. Newt stopped by only long enough to grab the blueprints for his idiotic weapon and run back out where it is being installed on the Jaegers. They have three capable of still functioning should it activate. Five more to serve as honour-guard through the Breach, and one, should all else fail, with a nuclear weapon.

Herc Hansen is not taking chances. Not now, not after everything they have lost.

Newt staggers in three hours later, panting and soaked in sweat. "They're done. They're heading out- Herc wants a show for the crowd, there's a lot of scared people out there- how is it?" He collapses next to Hermann, wiping damp hair from his face. "God."

"Yes." Hermann agrees absently, not paying any attention. The numbers, the code, the Throat; unlocking link by link as they work their way down. His hands fly over the keys of their own accord- no time to think, to dread- he is aloft and flying, disconnected but to the numbers that fill the world. _His_ numbers- the hand of _Gott_ reaching through to that other world for the first time; speaking, calming, gentling the madness.

Behind him, Newt is clattering through his gear, setting up the connections, resonance and triggers for his idiot machine. Lost in the numbers, Hermann is inclined to feel optimistic, even for that. Perhaps it will work, it would slow them down, at any rate, and once they get the Breach open on their side, it might confuse the Kaiju long enough for the Jaegers to smash everything on the other side-

It all happens at once.

The numbers change. They loop and strike back like serpents, unseen until too late. The code screams under his fingers, tearing apart at the seams. The figures fly up, numbers changing to meaningless glyphs as Hermann's program struggles to make sense of what the sensors are telling it.

Hermann stares, mind cold, hands numb, at the numbers.

And every alarm in the Shatterdome goes off.

The scream jolts him out of the death-trance, and Hermann pulls up more programs, pushing them to full to bolster his failing code. More power- they need more-

"Get the Marshall!" Hermann shouts at Newton, who had frozen. He nods wordlessly, face pale, and runs out of the laboratory.

Hermann tries to catches his breath, his hands are starting to shake and he cannot let _them_ \- he _cannot_. He needs to- he has to- Oh _Gott_ please _please_ -

It is not enough, he has enough power to hold the Breach- just- to hold, not to overwrite or close or anything more because _they_ are fighting their way through the code layer by layer and he is barely keeping _them_ from throwing him out completely and then- and then-

_Please, bitte Gott, don't let them take me alive._

Hansen crashes in, Newton in tow. "What's this- we have to launch they're coming through-"

Hermann's hands are shaking too much to code; he clenches his fists and feels the skin creak. "We have to transfer all the power to Breach control. Black out Hong-Kong if you have to but we have to take it." His voice is still calm, but cracks on the last word.

Hansen stares. "You can close it?"

"No." Another barrage of code, half of it gibberish. Point ten has become point five. Oh _Gott_ they are doubling it, he tries to block it and only manages to decrease the next expansion to point seven-five. Not enough. Not even close oh _please_.

"Then what-"

"Marshall!" His voice screeches, shrill, terrified. "If we do not have five times the power currently available, they will open the Breach from Anchorage to New Zealand. _That_ was what the trial was for earlier. They were widening the Throat in order to come through all at once." Hansen has gone bone-white. Hermann takes a breath and tries to calm down, tries to think. "Unless we can get the power to hold them then- I -we-" He gives up. Hansen understands.

Hansen is frozen for a second, butthen pulls out his phone. Hermann tunes him out, Diane and her fellows are working with him from their lab, trying to write the Masters out. The Breach shrinks for a moment, before tearing open even wider.

"-I don't care! Get those people to shelters _now_. And get some guards around the power stations in case the BuenaKai get any ideas-"

The lights blink out and come back thedim glow of the backup generators. The numbers fizz as the huge power surge hits. The Breach shrinks, expands. Holds. Only just.

Hermann breathes for the first time in what feels like anhour. His lungs scream for air, his ears are ringing. Newton and Hansen are staring at him.

His mouth is so dry he has to swallow several times to be able to speak. "We are holding. They have been able to expand the Breach somewhat, but for the numbers they are trying to get through it is a substantial bottleneck."

"Can you stop them?" Hansen leans over to look at the screen. "Kick them out completely?"

Hermann shakes his head. "Not yet, we are still decoding their side of the Breach. Marshall, we need more _time_."

"Right." He can see the white of Hansen's eyes, the pupils pin-pricks even in the dull light. Eight hours ago, this had not been happening. Eight hours ago, they had peace. "The Jaegers, can you code them through?"

"If the power levels remain consistent, our programs will be able to run correctly and allow us access to-"

" _Yes or no_!" Hansen roars. Hermann jumps inside his own skin and his claws almost unsheath completely.

"Yes! Yes we can do it! Give us- half an hour- that should be enough-" Hansen's pale under the lighting, eyes bright from reflected gleam.

He nods. "Okay." Breathes. Buries his face in his hands. "God, okay."

Hermann hesitates, the numbers drag at his attention, but he cannot tear his eyes off the shaking Marshall.

Hansen looks up, he swallows. "Right." He takes a deep breath. "This is what we're going to do. I'm leaving eight Jaegers here to guard the shores. They'll spread out if they need to, but most of the bastards are coming here anyway so who the hell cares. The rest are taking the plunge."

Hermann nods, one eye still on the struggling numbers on screen. They are holding, but more code lines are appearing that Hermann needs to deal with _now_.

"You keep the Breach open until they get out. We'll-" Hansen closes his eyes and grits his teeth. " _They_ 'll wreck the place. Geiszler-" He turns to Newt, who jumps. "They'll be operating your weapon. Make sure it's ready to fire." Newt nods desperately. Hansen looks at them, one after the other, then leaves.

The moment gone, Hermann swings back to his numbers. Diane and the others are at them now, throwing up wall after wall of code to trying to block the Masters. Hermann starts up his own programs to support them.

" _Fuck."_ Newt collapses next to him and starts moving his own setup over, wiring it to Hermann's array. "You okay?"

Hermann nods, wordlessly. He is shaking in a way he has not since he left the pits. He has to stop typing to bury his face in his hands and try to breathe. The shivers wrack him, every bone in his body loose and wandering. Newt gets a glass of water and Hermann almost drops it. Newt has to stand behind him and help him drink.

The water is cold, his throat so dry it tastes sweet. He swallows, again and again until the glass is empty and he is master of himself again.

"You did great." Newt is saying. "You were totally awesome. Like, ultimately awesome."

"You have no idea what just happened." The growl comes out as more of a gasp, panting as though he had run and fought.

"Sure I do. You kicked their ass with numbers. That rocked, by the way."

The laugh escapes his throat before Hermann can register it. "The Breach is still open." The programs they have set up are barely holding the Masters back, the Breach is stuck at maybe half again as large as it had been, but stable. Any Kaiju trying to get out will have to go single file, which should slow them.

But they are coming, one after another. To them. To Hong Kong. To the remnants of the PPDC and a few dozen barely-trained pilots. Hermann swallows, clenches his hands to stop them shaking again, and begins to write new programs to close the Breach.

 

* * *

 

 

"What are you doing?" Hermann's voice makes Newt jump. He almost drops the laptop he's fiddling with alongside the neural disruptor array.

"Trying to get into the security network." Hermann hisses and turns back to his screen. "Don't worry, I'm running this off the batteries, no drain on the Breach power system."

Hermann pulls a face. Newt sighs. Is it so awful that he's bored? Just sitting here doing nothing while Kaiju war part two is being fought and he can't _do anything_. He can't even make head or tails of what's on Hermann's holographic display because while Hermann might be able to look at that mess and see 'incoming annihilation' Newt just gets a bunch of letters and numbers.

"Is there anything I can do?" He props himself on an elbow while he finishes breaking into the camera network.

"Have you taken your medication?" Hermann snaps.

"Nope, left it at your place. Want me to go out and get it?"  
Hermann glares at him, the screen jumps, and a dozen boxes flash on screen. Newt punches the air.  
Hermann gives him such a look of scorn and disgust that Newt rolls his eyes. "Yeah, sorry, not all of us can be saving the world and it's this or play teaboy. D'you want to know if we're about to be squashed by Kaiju or not?"  
There's silence for a few moments, Hermann types madly. Then- "Is there any footage from the Breach?"

Newt scans through the cameras, several are dead static. One by one dead from the rigs of monitoring stations. Newt's skin crawls. It's stupid, but the first concrete proof of what's happening makes it that muchmore real. "They're dead."

“Can you see them yet?”

The cameras overlooking the oceans show nothing different, Newt can just about make out one of the Jaegers standing thigh-deep in the distance. Then, one of the outdoor cams catches his eye. "Fuck."

Hermann's head snaps around. "What?" He looks over Newt's shoulder to see.

"The fucking Breach cultists. Just what we fucking need." There's a hell of a lot more of them than usual, fighting to get over the gates. "Don't they have the sense to go to the shelters-" Newt stops, staring at Hermann, who's apparently forgotten about incoming annihilation in favour of the security cams. "What-"

Hermann snatches the laptop and grips it so tight the screen cracks. His head snaps up and his eyes are far too wide, far too dark. "Give me your phone."

Newt scrambles to hand it over and Hermann hammers a number in. On the cracked screen, Newt can see a small army of Shatterdome personnel acting as impromptu security. Several BeunaKai have already scaled the gates and are in the compound. Hermann sees them. " _Gott_ no, pick up the phone-"

"What are-" But Newton can see it too now, the way the BeunaKai are moving. It's weirdly clumsy, lopsided. As he watches, one falls to her knees and crawls a short way, before lurching to her feet again. "Hermann-" His lips have gone numb.

Hermann drops the phone as the woman closes the last few feet. The closest technician lifts a crowbar to warn her back, and she jumps, skin peeling back to reveal claws, teeth, four grasping arms and a whiplash body strong enough to tear through skin and bone.

The man collapses in a spray of blood, and the Infiltrators close for the slaughter.

 

* * *

 

“What-“ Newt stares from Hermann, to the screen. “What did- how did they-“ He lifts both hands to his face and words, for once in his life, desert him.

“They’ve been sent for us.” The words slip away from him, Hermann is not aware of them until he can taste them in his mouth. “Of course they have. They have been sent to _kill us_ -“ Of course. _Of course_. They had _dared_ to think they could out-think the Masters. That there was some way of predicting that madness.

The creatures on the screen scatter, slumping on to six limbs and running. Hermann remembers running like that- claws to the ground, low, swift. Killing fast. The sight of it steals his breath.

“Shit.” Newt chokes. “We need to- if they get in here-We have to-“ Newt chokes again. Ashen. The creatures carve their path into the Shatterdome. They choke the corridors, claw and bite each other in maddened rage to find something to kill.

And here they come, the Kims with their tools, leading the Shatterdome staff with crowbars and wrenches. Crowbars that would bounce off hide. Wrenches that would glance against iron bones. Bundles of wires that might as well be twigs. A handful of carving knives from the kitchens. One, maybe two, with guns that might- might, if they are crack shots and unbearably lucky, _might_ slow one or two.

“No.” His mouth is numb. “Newt- call them, they have to stop-“

Maia Kim charges, holding a welding torch. The picture is blurred but he knows her, the set of her shoulders, the coiled strength of her arms.

“No.” The flame burns one of them, tears through an eye. The creature- _that creature_ \- _Gott_ , how he knows that creature- jumps on her, and Hermann feels his body curl in sympathy. _Close. Bite. Lock jaws and brace back legs on their belly and tear down. Bury face in belly and **feed**._

He’s right. _Gott_ help him. The creature spits in disgust at the inedible mess it has struggled to swallow. Hermann’s stomach clenches, yesterday’s shedding meal fights to reappear.

Newt fumbled for his phone, but it is rendered pointless when Marshall Hansen runs in, Tendo on his heels. “-holdthem off. Get some actual guns brought in- You two!” He points at Hermann and Newton. “Get this place locked down, I’d bet God they’re-“

“After us.” Hermann whispers. He tries to think of something to say, something that can help, something that only he could-

There is nothing. It would feel better if he were too afraid to say anything, to hold something back so they would not suspect. It would be better to hate himself for a coward and a traitor, than stay silent because there is _nothing to say_. He knows how deadly these creatures are. He knows that better than anyone.

Driven by the Masters, they ignore wounds, pain, will kill until they fall dead.

Hansen looks between them, nods. “Keep the Breach open for the Jaegers. They’ll be making the drop within the hour. Can you get them through?”

It takes Hermann a moment to realise he is being addressed. He nods.

“Geiszler, you stay by that weapon. If everything fails we’ll have to set it off.”

“If I can fire it now, we could stop these-“ Newt starts.

“And fry every Jaeger guarding Hong Kong?” Hansen finishes sharply. “Millions of people are depending on us. We will hold them off until the Jaegers are through the Breach.”

“But-“

“ _I am Marshall here!”_ Hansen roars, and Newt sits down hard. “We do not have time for this! I need you to do your jobs! Keep the Breach open, and man that weapon. And _shut this place down!”_

The numbers are moving again, Shane and her team are working their way down through the Breach, recoding it to allow the Jaegers to pass through. The response is swift and immediate, equations that barely deserve that name forming to counter them, numbers that come up half in meaningless sigils as their computers struggle to make sense of the Masters’ orders.

Newton swings the heavy door shut, and turns the wheel to lock it, then bangs on a button to bring down the iron shutters. They fall with a rattling crash, and Hermann shudders, hunches his back and feels the spines arch against the stiffness of his new skin.

In the screens, he can see the battle raging in the corridors from the corner of his eye. The slaughter. Newt collapses next to him, buries his face in his hands. Hermann does not look at him, even when he turns to him. “You got any good news?”

The programs are no longer enough. Hermann scraps them and starts writing new ones. They have enough data from the Anteverse to build more accurate models, models that work.

“Didn’t think so.” Newt props his face in his hand. Hermann focuses his attention on the numbers, turns one of his programs loose. The numbers stabilise, wind their way down like snakes. “It’s not your fault.” Newton touches his shoulder.

Hermann shrugs it off, hard. “That was why they opened the Breach the first time. To send them through.”

“Like we could have guessed.”

“We tried to, and we were wrong. And now they are dying out there, because we were wrong.” Hermann clenches his teeth, they creak. Focus. The numbers. The Breach.

He looks at Newton, and sees hislaptop screen. Three of the security cameras have broken, another is blurry. The corridors are wet with blood. There are only two dozen Infiltrators, and hundreds of people in the Shatterdome. The Infiltrators goes through them as though they weren't there, claws and teeth and dancing grace.

The bang makes them both jump, dead weight on the inches-thick steel of the doors. And the howl; the ululating howl, throat-deep and grinding. Hermann covers his ears, feels the cry start in his own lungs, he shudders, moans. Newt reaches over, and pulls him close. Crosses his arms around Hermann’s head and rocks him as the screams break out again and again outside- screams from another world, every one the same and every one mirroring that in his throat.

Bang! Bang! The shriek of claws on steel. Hermann’s claws extend in sympathy and he looks down at them- the pink skin split down to shining black. He can dig through steel, given time. But steel that thick will take hours, and there are the shutters after that. Newt kisses him, hot and sweet on the curve of his head, just behind his ear.

Hermann glances at the screen; the new code is doing well. Hermann wonders if the Masters find their numbers as incomprehensible as they are finding theirs. He clenches his eyes closed. They had tried to guess the Masters’ actions before, and now they are trapped in the lab with his new siblings clawing down the doors.

 

* * *

 

 

Every moment feels- sharper, somehow. Newt can feel every breath he draws in, every beat of his heart. The sweat on his hands, the coarse tweed of Hermann’s clothes.

He remembers the Kaiju shelter. The stink of hundreds of people, the way his clothes stuck wetly to him, the creak of brickwork as Otachi dug her way down.

The claws outside are smaller, but there are a lot of them. Hermann shakes at every scream.

Half an hour ago, this hadn’t been happening. Newt closes his eyes and tightens his grip on Hermann. Maybe if they could stay still enough, they could slip back through time and do- something- to change this fuckup.

Another crash, and this time it’s backed by the flash of gunfire. They must have brought guns in from somewhere. On the screens, the soundless Infiltrators reel back, coil and regroup before turning their attention to the men.

The bullets give them pause, but not for long, and none of them fall. Newt remembers taking Hermann’s blood, how hard it was to drive a needle through that dense, tough dark skin. The bullets bruise and jar and glance off, and the Infiltrators slaughter them in turn.

Then, he sees that three of the creatures have pulled off from the main knot, and are clawing at the side of the corridor. The wall’s concrete and steel, and even thicker than the door. Newt lets go of Hermann and taps at the screen, enlarging the image. Hermann pushes himself up and joins him.

The creatures are blocking whatever they are doing with their bodies. It’s too far away from the door for them to hear, and the security footage has no sound. “They can’t dig their way through.” It comes out more of a question, and Hermann shakes his head.

The noise outside is drowned out when one of the digging creatures throws its head back and screams. Something flies from the diggers’ claws and skitters across the floor, flashing white.

The grating of one of the air ducts.

The hole is tiny; barely more than a foot square, but the first creature is already through it, the second two a heartbeat behind them. The other creatures follow suit, rushing to the hole and leaving the bodies of the dead expiring on the floor.

The clang of claws on metal echoes in the walls. “Can they-“ Newt starts. “How do they know what way-“

Hermann gets up, bracing himself on the desk. “They can feel me.”

“What-“

“I can feel them.” He touches his head, and now Newton can hear them too, a crackle like static; wavering in and out like a badly tuned radio. Hermann’s eyes are tracking the clatter through the walls, over the ceiling. There’s a grate in the lab, halfway up the wall, and the banging is getting louder.

 

* * *

 

He can hear them. He has not been this close to a living Kaiju since the Anteverse; and the Hive, even this new Hive, claws at him. It sparks like broken wiring, spits rage and mindless, screaming insanity.

And now he can _hear_ them too, snarls and hisses; the scream of claws on metal. For a moment, he wavers, and he can feel the claws bite into the metal, drag grooves over the smooth surface for purchase.

“Hermann?” Hermann jumps, his body taut and tangled inside his skin. Newt jerks his hand away from where he’d touched his arm. The echoes in his head fade a little with the proximity.

The claws of the Hive, knives inside his head. It’s too close- _Gott, oh bitte Gott_ please not this. He shakes his head, looks down at his hands where his claws have already shredded the skin. He flexes his wrists, splitting his arms into two to the elbow.

“Hermann?” Newton touches his shoulder. “We’ve got to-“ He breaks off. There is nowhere to go. They are waiting outside, and coming through the vents. There is nowhere they can run.

Hermann looks down at his hands. Extends his claws to their fullest. Long, sleek and black. He hasn’t looked at them for years, not really. The last time, they'd still been notched and scarred from the pits, a painful crack splitting one tip, dingy from eons of blood. The marks have long ago grown out, smooth and perfect, unused for anything but dead meat, synthetic flesh. He looks for flecks of blue from Newt's absurd prank, but they are long gone.

He sighs, swallows. Closes his eyes. Makes his peace. “We have to block them off.” They don’t have much time.

Newton nods, pale as snow. Together they push the tables over to their workstation, overturn them and prop them into a barricade. Newton gathers his weapons system and drags it, trailing cables, to under Hermann’s workdesk.

The scrabbling in the vents is getting closer. Hermann feels as though he had swallowed ice. There is no choice, but everything he is, has become, screams no. His hands move almost of their own accord. He shrugs his way out of his jacket, claws snagging on the buttons.

His shirt is next. The skin is too new to crumble properly, and it hurts when he tears through it. He gets his arms out first, hisses where his spines split through his back. His leg buckles and he falls to his hands. Hermann picks off his shoes before he can shred them. His trousers are not so lucky, he kicks and they tear, tangle around his tails before he can get free.

“Are you going to-“

Hermann looks at Newton, he looks stricken. “Do we have a choice?” The words snag in his throat, growl.

“Don’t, you have-“

He gets up; it’s easier like this, with tails as balance. His hands, all four, find Newton’s. His soft hands are small to his lanky ones; they shake, where Hermann’s are quite steady. Hermann squeezes gently, claws tracing fine white lines across the skin. “The programs I have running will keep the Breach locked and open for the Jaegers, and Shane will fight them off. Stay down, and man your weapon.” If all else fails, it will be their last option.

“You’re gonna fight them?” Newton’s eyes dart from him, to the grate, down to their hands. “They killed everyone out there, what are you-“

Hermann looks at him, can feel his fear and pain, read it on his face. He can see himself in Newton’s eyes, completely human, regardless of the skin he wears. Someone who would have no more chance against the Infiltrators than those outside, instead of being kin to them, and with much more experience. He leans forward, and touches his head to Newton's, basking in that image, that sense of self he has valued and cherished for so long.

The scrape of clawschanges, just a little, no longer in the vents, but ringing against the grate on the wall across the room. He drops to all sixes and paces over to it. His heart is one long humming beat against his ribcage, but he feels absurdly calm. As though everything in his life, every mistake, missed chance, cowardice, was leading to this point.

Within him, he feels _that creature_ stir, stretch its limbs until it fills every part of him, it flexes his claws, it looks out through his eyes, it resonates with the cold, trembling calm before a fight.

The first of his siblings is clumsy. It had to turn in the confines of the vents in order to kick the grating out with its powerful back legs, and it falls out as the grill is sent skittering across the room. It hits one of Newton's tables and slumps across it supine, belly and throat exposed; a sacrifice to his teeth.

He takes it, jaws snapping tight around its throat. Hot blood explodes in his mouth for the first time in twenty years and the creature moans with his voice. Tight, clenching muscles of living flesh under his teeth. His stomach explodes in instinctive hunger. His backbone snaps riptide strong from neck to tail and flexes all its strength, and the creature’s throat comes free. He has devoured the thick mouthful of flesh before he is even aware of it.

His sibling dies in a spray of blood that splatters the walls and fills the room with the wet, sweetmeat smell of chloride and ammonia. The next Infiltrator smells the death and groans as it emerges from the vents and kicks itself out. He catches it in mid-air in a jump made clumsy by his leg and the overturning table. Instead of its throat, he catches it mid-back. His claws and teeth sink in and his sibling snaps like a whip, back cracking open under his talons, losing a rope of bone aslong as his hand.

The Infiltrator hits the ground still living and screaming. It thrashes itself in circles, everything below the first set of arms paralysed. He has no time to finish it because the next sibling has lined itself up for death. It is more wary, dropping down beside the ruined table and the corpse of its twin.

He looks into its eyes, those eyes just like his. Looksthrough the twin rings of blue and down into the Breach and out to eyes that spit and burn him like atomic fire. They rake over his mind, down his spine, over every nerve to its tip and scrabble for the purchase of him, a thousand needle-tip claws of orders that skitter and cannot grip and he screams in triumph and _No. No more. Never._

His jaws snap around the puppet's face, he feels the flesh part and the bone stand stark against his teeth. His teeth cut grooves into the smooth surface, and he feels the skull start to creak under the pressure, crumble, small bones snapping-

A shout. Pain explodes across his left shoulder, so deep and pervasive his stomach heaves with it. He spins around, the crushed mass of bone and flesh slipping from his teeth and his shoulder tearing out of the grip before it can get too deep and damage the muscle.

Two more are behind him. Their eyes burn in the Breach. He burns. That creature screams and kicks in his mind, refusal beyond expression or words but the very essence of denial. His focus blurs and narrows, blocking out the world, the lab, the Masters. The fight- nothing but The Fight.

 _That creature_ bares teeth so bloody they shine blue, flexes murdering claws. Its body arcs and trembles, every scar, every old wound alive and every muscle aching to kill. It screams and its siblings scream and death sings in their blood.

 

* * *

 

The Infiltrator lurches towards Newt, its face a broken mass of bone. It is trying to cry out and all that comes is a sucking gurgle like a blocked pipe. Blood comes in obscene bubbles from the wreck of its muzzle. One eye is gone, a swollen bloated burst, the other blind with pain and rolling. It staggers, and Newt shies back, dropping behind their table barricade. The creature rears, from its throat comes a hideous hacking, like a failing engine, and it topples over. Newt ducks behind his weapons set up as the thing collapses against the table and expires.

More and more of them are fighting their way into the room. Teeth bared, claws flashing. The reek of ammonia is everywhere, so familiar that it's perversely comforting. Five dead, not counting the one bleeding on the floor only feet away. The floor is painted with arcs of gore, like a map of dance steps.

Hermann darts up and under one of the newcomers. Teeth snapping for its throat. He misses and his teeth close around the hollow of its shoulder just as a third rushes him from the side. Hermann's bad leg gives way and they roll, grappling in a ball of claws and teeth across the concrete. The first creature starts shrieking, blood gouting out in great pumps. The third howls and falls off Hermann, its entrails shredded and trailing behind it. Hermann spins and gets up, more blue than black now, mouth gaping soundlessly, teeth snarled and glowing.

Newt doesn't move. He's not sure if he's even breathing. The din is ear-splitting. The scream of claws on concrete and brick and glass and steel and flesh. The shrieks and howls of mad dogs. The _screaming_ in his head, like the Drift only ten times worse and he can _feel_ the control of the Masters inside them, using living things like sockpuppets. His stomach roils.

One of the puppet-things hits Hermann's blackboards and overturns them, it struggles, tries to rise, and slumps back with a rattle, Kaiju Blue smearing the chalk.

Newt's hand finds the control switch for the device, grips it like a lifeline. _Make this stop_. He can stop this. Activate it and- and what? They'd stop maybe- at least they'd be confused- the hands inside them would be gone- they'd run- Hermann had run-

His phone rings. He almost misses it under the howling melee behind him. His hands shake so hard he almost drops it twice. It's Herc.

It's like a dream. He holds it up and the Marshall doesn't wait for him to talk. "Sit rep now!"

"No- they- we can't-" the words aren't there. He'd need an entirely new vocabulary to describe this.

"Where's Gottlieb?"

"Not- he- I don't-" Newt swallows. "They're in here, we can't-" He hears Herc take a breath.

"How long can you hold out?"

Newt looks over the top of the table. There are five creatures in the lab, maybe more- they're moving too fast to count- more dying on the floor and even more fighting their way in. "We _can't_ \- we have to fire-"

"Hold on! They're going through now. Stand by!"

One Infiltrator has Hermann pinned, another closes and sinks its teeth into his neck. Hermann kicks; rolls free; eviscerates one before charging back into the fray.

"Fucking _hurry_!" Newt screams.

“Touchdown now!” Raleigh’s voice is faint and crackling through the phone.

“Holy fuck!” Someone else, the jumble of cries and cold sweat breaks out over Newt’s skin. The screams around him, the shouts, it’s _too much_ and the world trembles, he can feel blood between his teeth, the weightlessness of water, the unbearable cold of the Anteverse-

He starts to shake.

“We need to _move_ \- the ground- it’s- _fuck-_ “

The battle a few feet away drags at him; Hermann’s cold focus and the Infiltrators’ blind, tortured madness. They pull him like a riptide and he can feel the focus controlling them shift, turn to a new target- a more immediate threat-

“They know we're coming.” His lips are numb.

“What?”

“They’re coming- they can see the Jaegers-“

“Geiszler, _shut up_!” Herc’s voice makes him jump, grounds him for a moment, like a narcoleptic twitch just as he falls asleep.

“But-“ He can- not see, not hear because this is no sense he has words for- but he _knows_ they are aware the Jaegers are there, are preparing to attack.

“Get to the outpost there- no there- the one with- with-”

He has seen the landscape in his dreams, the way it twisted and changed, seemed to breathe. He had asked Hermann if it had been like that in reality, and he had said yes, yes it had been.

“Fuck, no- it’s turning into some kind of- there's no purchase-“

 _'_ “Plasma cannon.” Mori, curt and sharp.

A ripple, like worms crawling through his brain, in his eyes, working away in his mouth.Newt screws his eyes shut but whatever eyes he is seeing with have no lids. He can feel the great, cresting wave of rage as it breaks across the Anteverse, the Breach, the Earth.

**_KILL_ **

Hot rage, the feel of claws through flesh, of blood bursting between teeth. It is order and deed and imperative and prophecy at once. It is a stone thrown into the pool of the Hivemind, and the ripples crash into the Drift.

Newt screams, and they _all scream_ all in the same voice, the same cry of pain.

“You three, hold them off! The rest of us will take these fuckers down-“

“Doctor! Stand by! Sierra, get the bomb ready!“

“Fuck, Mori, they can HEAR us-“

“Scatter out! Tear this place down-“ Raleigh.

"Fuck! Herc- they're coming! There’s –oh god -"

“Get that bomb ready!”

“Sierra! FIRE NOW!”

The ripple of teeth closing on steel and titanium grinds through Newt’s mind, he hunches, shudders.

“Sierra! Bail!”

“Sierra!”

Newt digs his fingers into his head. Behind him, Hermann screams. Not from the Hive, or the Masters, but a tearing howl of pure pain.

“We can’t hold here!” He shouts and- he can feel - fuck- he can feel blood running down behind a fourth arm he doesn’t have, the muscles weak and hanging loose and bare.

“Danger! What’s happening!”

“Sierra is gone. There’s- Marshall- there’s _thousands_ of Kaiju- we have to-“

“Get out! Bail now and hold them on the far side!”

No- nononono- “You have to set it up to fire-“ He can't set it off like this-

“Geiszler! There’s no time. Open the doors and we’ll get you out.”

“It’ll stop them! It’ll cover you- slow them down- _Please_ -“ He staggers to his feet.

“Go!” He hears Raleigh. “We’ll fire it.”

“We’ll hold them off!” The Hussains.

The room is a charnel house. The floor is inches deep with blood in places, smeared across the walls. The furniture is in pieces, overturned and smashed and the bodies are everywhere. It’s unreal. It’s something from a nightmare, from something Hermann-

Hermann.

He’s being pinned on the floor by the four remaining Infiltrators. One at his head, one digging its claws into his back and a third dragging on his back legs. A fourth has its head buried into his stomach and is tearing out great gouts of flesh.

The world spins. Everything goes very numb and very, very cold.

“Geiszler, get ready!”

“It’s got to be now!” He barely recognises his own voice.

“Hold on-“

“Now!” Newt fumbles for the activation switches, starts readying the blast.

“Wait”

“We can’t!”

“We’re done.” Raleigh’s voice is tight. “Fire at will.”

“Danger, Scimitar get out of there! Geiszler- wait!”

The disruptor is ready, humming and bright and building tension and current between the mines Lady Danger and Scimitar Grey have set up. Hermann screams again and it cracks into a moan.

“I have to-“

“Fire now and they’ll die.” Herc isn’t shouting any more. His voice is soft.

“I don’t- _I don’t care_ -“ His fingers tremble on the activation switch. Hermann will die. He’ll die and Newt will _have to watch,_ have to hear, have to feel the teeth digging deeper and deeper into the flesh of his stomach, tearing hot and cold and heaving pain.

“They’ll die.” Softer.

“I can’t-“ It cracks into a sob. He can’t. But Hermann would. He wouldn’t want Newt to do this. He would rather let them kill him than let Beckett and Mori and the Hussains die. “Please.”

“Just hold on.”

The moment could be a few seconds, a minute, five. It stretches endless, unbroken by anything but his own sobs, the pain of his own teeth digging into his fist, trying to drown out the pain exploding through his belly, his back and side. But the gating mechanism doesn’t work through the Drift and it is blinding, intolerable.

“Now!”

Newt hammers on the switch so hard he misses and has to punch it again. For a moment, that impossible, hideous moment, there is nothing.

Then the noise, the noise that at this level isn’t a noise so much as a physical force, a shockwave echoing from the Anteverse, jumping through the Breach, mind to mind and punching into this world with a force like a firehose, kicking the breath from his body and almost knocking him over.

The Infiltrators are thrown back, shaking their heads and keening, blind and panicked. Newt grabs the first thing his hands encounter- Hermann’s chair- and charges in screaming.

He catches the one- that one, its mouth smeared blue and dripping wet- across the head with the chair. It’s like hitting a concrete block. The impact jars his shoulders, and the chair falls apart in his hands. The Infiltrator shakes its head, and turns its maddened eyes on him.

Newt doesn’t care. He screams in its face and hits it again with the bundle of bent piping that’s all that’s left of the chair. It catches the snarling creature in the mouth. It bites down and the aluminium tears under its teeth. Newt tries to yank them free, and the creature pulls back. The metal slips in his grip and Newt finally throws the lot at the Infiltrator. The creature rolls with its own momentum, throws the mangled mess away and turns back. It snarls, deep, rattling, hideous.

Newt stares at it. Hermann’s blood and- worse- is dripping from its teeth. Long, narrow teeth, razor sharp. It’s claws are blue to the wrist, crackedand fractured. Its shoulder is open to the bone, one leg dragging. It’s terrifying and hideous and so familiar it’s something from a nightmare. Like Hermann, with deliberate mistakes. A bunch of quills on its back rather than spines, a longer muzzle like a wolf’s. Its eyes are empty of everything but death.

Newt has nothing but his own skin, no claws, teeth that couldn’t even get through raw meat. He stares at the creature, frozen and helpless, as it coils itself to pounce-

And Hermann hits it from the side, rolling it into the mess of the floor and fetching up against a corpse. Two of the remaining four are dead, the third dying noisily under a ruined table. Hermann braces his good leg against the Infiltrator’s belly and a burst of blood spurts from the hideous wound in his side.

He ignores it. Doesn’t even seem to _feel_ it. He yanks down hard and the thing's guts spill across the floor like an upturned bucket of snakes. Newt gags, staggers back, then forces himself forwards crablike, uncertain on the soaked floor.

Hermann pulls back from the dead thing as it twitches and moans out the last of its life. He staggers to his feet, legs spread, blood running in a waterfall down from his left side. He looks at Newt. He looks at Newt and his eyes are empty and blind. There is nothing in there that knows him, nothing but a crazed fighting creature looking for its next target.

Newt’s mouth is dry, but he doesn’t run. He makes himself step closer, reaches out a hand to touch the mottled, shredded skin. “Hermann.”

Hermann looks at him, blinks and something- some light- comes back into his eyes. He shudders, moans and falls to the floor. Kicks twice, then lies still.

 

* * *

 

The scream of Geiszler’s disruptor weapon islike an axepick to the head, and for a moment all Raleigh can feel is pain. It’s the pain of his brother’s death, but ten times worse, keener, sharper; he can feel every detail, the bite of metal, and heat of Knifehead’s breath-

“Ranger!" He’s being shaken, Gipsy Danger twisting to pieces around him-

“Ranger! Wake up!” Stacker Pentecost's shout come from just behind him. Raleigh jerks up. His eyes snap open. Mako starts up across from him, her eyes red and damp in the emergency lights.

“The Drift failed, as predicted." Her voice trembles, then steadies. "We have to go.”

“That’s the second time we’ve left a Jaeger at the bottom of the sea.” He manages a smile. Now, as then, he feels Pentecost's presence at his shoulder, a solid ghost in the ragged remains of the Drift.

“We can come back for her. The damage is not bad-” She breaks off. There are no lights left on in the Jaeger, and the darkness outside is complete. Black but for the phosphorescent blue of the Kaiju chasing them from the Breach.

They freeze, something hindbrain screaming to stay still, not to be seen by the terrible predators outside. Eight of them, fighting their way free and thrashing towards them. The blast of the disruptor has them screaming; a diffuse, echoing wail that comes from nowhere and everywhere, like whalesong from Hell.

One of them rams into Lady Danger, not attacking, just throwing itself blindly against them. Its long serpent body coils like rope around them, and the thing’s head comes level to theirs.

It’s huge, a cross between a snake and a deep-sea fish. Thin, but impossibly long, big as Otachi. Its eyes, crazed and rolling, finally focus on them.

And then- it’s not something Raleigh can describe, but for the first time since he started this war, in all the dozen or so Kaiju he’s fought and killed, this is the first time one of them has actually _looked_ at him.

It stares, hanging in the water, as though it had never seen them before. Then its mouth opens and it _howls._ It's a sound that he’s never heard before from a Kaiju. It’s pure terror.

It turns and scythes away through the water, gone almost in the next moment. Two more- twins with the same long bodies and thrashing tails- break free and follow it, dashing away so fast he’s not sure if he even saw them.

Then Danger is crashed into again, another Kaiju flees, and the remaining four turn on each other in a blur of claws and teeth. Kaiju Blue boils and blinds the sensors.

“We have to go!” Mako shouts. “Now!”

The Kaiju don’t seem to notice Lady Danger, rolling and fighting and threatening to crush her in their battle. Raleigh screws his eyes shut and triggers the emergency release.

  
When they pull themselves free from the escape pods, the sea around is poisonous blood blue, and the severed head of one of the combatants is wallowing only a few metres away.

 

* * *

 

  
 _The remaining Kaiju make landfall less than an hour later. The first barely leads the pack. Keter Dios tries to intercept it, but it’s too fast. It neatly sidesteps the Jaeger and dashes into Hong Kong. Keter starts after it, but the creature doesn’t stop to attack or even to knock anything over, it makes for the broadest street and gallops down it, ripping up concrete and asphalt and crashing through bridges in mad, screaming panic. It dodges buildings, leaps over houses and moves so fast that by the time its three siblings make land a few minutes later, it’s already halfway through Hong Kong and running west._

_The other three hit the beach in a howling, thrashing ball of claws and teeth. One of them is left dead in the shallows, turning the surf a brighter blue, guts and shattered bones floating and shifting into the sand._

_The remaining two crash into the seafront buildings, barely a few hundred metres from a news group who had hoped for more warning. They scream and run, leaving only a member of the camera crew shaking and too terrified to  move and only later realising she had unwittingly filmed the entire thing._

_One of the Kaiju is sprawled on its back in the wreckage of the buildings, clawing and snapping at the second pinning it down. Its claws rip huge, train-length tears in the reptilian flesh of its enemy, and one foot sinks deep into the shattered bones of its chest._

_The second’s jaws lock around its throat, and drives it down. The creature’s neck snaps with the sound of a mountain shattering, and its head lolls backwards, loose and limp and dead between one heartbeat and the next._

_The victor straddles the corpse and snarls weakly, blood pouring from its chest, its neck, its belly. It groans. Its breath hesitates, and its eyes clear. It looks up, at the bright, blue sky of Earth. It blinks, eyes glazed with pain. It looks up, then down. It stares at the sea, at the ruins, at Hong Kong, at the terrified camera crewwoman. It stares as though these were all newly made, as if it had been too maddened by killing to have even seen where it had ended up before now._

_It sinks down, groans, and expires. Its muzzle glances off the film van and crushes it flat. The ridges on its head miss the camera crewperson by less than a foot. She screams, drops her equipment, and falls over._

 

* * *

 

 

Newt screams furiously as he finally lifts Hermann the last few inches and hoists him up. Hermann’s computer and the holographic display have been unceremoniously dropped to the floor, and Newt’s kicked his rig, and two corpses, away from the only table still standing.

Hermann groans; and blood bubbles from his mouth. His feet and tails hang off the edge of the table, and when Newt lets him go he starts to struggle weakly.

“Shh, shh.” Newt puts a hand on his chest, but Hermann doesn’t seem to hear, lost somewhere in a sea of pain. He scratches at the air, coughs; he tries to kick which only makes his wound bleed faster.

“Shit.” Newt looks at him, steps away quickly and digs through thedrawersof an overturned desk. “I’m sorry.” He apologises pointlessly. “You’re not going to like this, but-” He holds Hermann’s upper left wrist and pins it to the table leg and zipties it down. He does the same with the other three, and folds up his back legs to relax his abdomen before tying them down too. Hermann moans, struggles, but doesn’t seem to realise he’s restrained.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Newt stokes his face. One eye opens, glazed, searches blindly before closing again.

Newt runs over to what is left of his side of the lab, wrenches open a locker and pulls out the first aid supplies.

He doesn’t bother with stitching the hideous, gaping hole just above Hermann’s left hip, it’s all blood rather than- anything else, so they hadn’t managed to catch any major organs. The hole is too big to stitchanyway, there’s not enough flesh. Newt can’t even disinfect it because the alcohol might as well be poison. He washes his hands with sterile water from a bottle, and tries to rinse away the worst of the mess. He pulls cotton wool and gauze from their packets and folds them over the wound. It takes three packets before it stops immediately soaking through. Newt unrolls a bandage and winds it around Hermann’s waist. It catches on the spinneret on his right side. He clinches it tight, winds two more around it to keep pressure on the gaping wound. To stop Hermann bleeding out.

He needs skin grafts, major reconstructive surgery, but right now he just needs to stay alive.  
Newt forces himself to turn away from the hideous mess and focus on the other wounds. They're not as bad, but taken together they'll still kill him. Newt threads the needle, braces a hand on Hermann’s chest and starts on the bloody, chewed mess of his lower right shoulder.

Newt’s hands itch. He’s forgotten gloves and the Kaiju Blue irritates his skin. He ignores it. Barely even feels it. The blood is washed off with sterile wipes, and the skin stitched together quickly before it can well up again. Hermann starts and shivers and pulls at his restraints but doesn’t have either the strength or the will to pull free. He growls, hacks, coughs blood. An obscene blue-traced bubble forms and bursts in his mouth, trickling down the side of his chin.

One more injury, the next, the next. Hermann will have an entire new network of scars if- when, _when_ \- he recovers. He almost lost the last five inches of one of his tails, new wounds across his back- Newt turns him only slightly, kneels on the floor to get the correct angle - his lower right arm might be broken as well as torn, hanging oddly loose.

Newt sets it with a portable splint, tries to pin the ragged muscles back together and tucks the limb more comfortably against Hermann’s body. He groans; a soft, broken noise.

Newt tries to hush him, but nothing comes out and the moment hestops working, his hands startto shake. Newt closes his eyes, swallows, and starts again. His hands are steady as long as he’s doing this. He _knows_ this. He’s spent the last fifteen years studying the Kaiju, how their bodies fit together. Fifteen years, and this is what it was for, in the end. Because he could have Drifted with the Kaiju, could have fought off the Masters in the Hive, could have built the disruptor, but if he has done all this and can’t stop Hermann from dying _right now_ then- why does he even fucking exist? What right does he have to fucking _breathe_?

His hands tremble, he misses a stitch. Newt snarls, wordless and forces them steady. Hermann shudders, coughs and starts to choke. Blood comes hot and wet from his mouth, Newt turns his head and Hermann spits it across the table, he coughs again, more weakly, and his body suddenly falls limp. He isn’t breathing.

 

* * *

 

Hermann turns, confused. He is floating in deep water. The liquid fills his mouth and nose, and settles in his lungs. The heaviness is comforting, a solid presence in this weightless place. There is no pain here; the searing agony which had chased him from the waking world is gone now and even time has stopped.

For a moment; Hermann remembers the Breach, the strange, alien glow- brighter than anything he had seen, but soft and kind on his raw eyes. His body hanging limp and slowly rising, caught between worlds - away from the Hive and the orders, without even his own thoughts echoing in his head. This is very like- drifting between places, every muscle supported and relaxed.

And when he had come through to this new world, the water in his lungs fresh with salt; the pure, perfect darkness of the deep sea- and when he had drifted up- the holy light shafting down and turning the water a rich blessed blue. His first glimpse of sunlight, and then, when he had crested the waves- the sun itself. The warmth, the feeling of intolerable cold melting from his bones for the first time, never to return.

The Chilian beach, the village. The moments flash past one after the other, a blur of barely understood time and a world he could scarcely comprehend. The confused tangle of his new skin, the new words of this new world. All bright and vivid and dazzling and so tender he could barely touch it for fear of itbreaking.

The blur slows and steadies, and suddenly everything crystallises around him and he is looking down at- himself.

Himself in those first few days, before he even knew what days _were_. His features are rough and lopsided, without the ease and polish of countless sheds. He is dressed in the worn-out castoffs he had found on the church stoop, feet bare and splattered with dirt because he had not realised shoes existed. His face is upturned to the sky, as though he were looking back up at himself.

Hermann remembers this, the sky. The way it had gone dark and heavy, and he had stopped and stared up- not fearfully, because it was hard to imagine anything in this world that could frighten him- but uncertain. He had wondered, before the first drops had fallen, if there was some great solid mass up there, that was about to drop.

And then the lightning had broken, and the sky had opened and- yes. He had sat on the dusty ground which had been quickly turning to mud, and watched the rain come down. Had tilted his head back and swallowed. It had been so sweet; he remembers, staring down at his own face, eyes closed in bliss.

The days spent walking before he had been picked up by a farmer going to Valparaiso and the six hour drive to the city. The man had talked non-stop in Spanish the entire way. Hermann smiles. He remember how stunned the man was when Hermann had talked fluently back to him upon arrival.

Sleeping on the streets, in church shelters, slowly creating a place for himself in this world. Writing programs from library computers to build himself an identity. Studying in Heidelberg and for a moment that flashes before him to- being awarded his degree, two years after he had emerged on that beach. And nothing he had done, nothing he had survived, evoked quite the same level of transcendent joy and pride as receiving that award.

His Masters, his PHD, his tenure at Cambridge. The cresting joy and triumph come crashing down with Trespasser. Giving everything up. The PPDC. Stacker Pentecost. Newton.

God. Newton.

And finally, the blur of memories and thought and time clears, and Hermann is looking down at himself again. Himself lying on a table stained blue with his own blood. Bleeding out from dozens of wounds which Newton is barely keeping staunched.

Newt is trying to get him to breathe. He is compressing his chest, forcing air out, and covering his muzzle and breathing into his mouth.

He should not touch him. Hermann is soaked with blood- both his and the Infiltrators’, Newton is not wearing gloves, or anything to cover his mouth. He tries to tell him to stop, but his mouth is full of water, and not even bubbles come out.

He reaches out, and although he does not move, everything seems to become just that little further away, as though he were looking at it from the wrong end of a telescope. Newt slips and falls, and for a moment, he cannot seem to get up again. He shudders, drops his head, and finally managed to claw his way up, and continues trying to bring him back, hands shaking.

Hermann reaches out again, and feels himself drift a little further away, as though caught in a tidal current. And then, warmth pours over him. It is like the first sunlight after the Breach, the sweetness of that great storm, the joy of standing in the hall in Heidelberg.

Hermann turns, feels his grip on the world behind start to relax- closes his eyes-

And someone catches him. The arms are huge and heavy across his narrow shoulders, supporting him, keeping him from- going- to wherever and whatever that might be. Hermann struggles for a moment, half hearted, then looks up into the face of Stacker Pentecost.

Horror explodes through him. Pentecost looks at him. At _him_ , without skin hiding his face. He can see who he is. What he is.

“No-“

The price of those five years of bliss, of silence, the shame of it wracks him. Pentecost’s sister had died in the first Trespasser attack, and what would they have been able to do if they had known what was coming-

“You didn’t know.” Pentecost looks at him with a kindness that tears at him.

Hermann tries to pull away, draws up a hand to hide his face. Pentecost does not let him go. Pulls him close and holds him as he would a child. Hermann shudders, feels his entire body shake. “I am sorry.” He whispers. Pathetic. Useless.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

His legs tremble, he sinks down and would have fallen had Pentecost not held him up. “I’m sorry.” He repeats, and then he cannot stop. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-“ It is almost a chant, and he buries his head in the solid wall of Pentecost’s Jaeger suit.

“Shh.” Pentecost holds him up, rocks him gently and it's not _fair_. He should be angry, he should blame him, hate him- "You were a terrified, traumatised child, and had no idea what was happening."

Hermann clenches his hands and bares his teeth, because first Newt and now Pentecost and will any of them be _angry_? Are they so kind, so ready to forgive that there is nothing else they can say? He used to love this part of them- and now he simply wants to _scream_.

"Do you think you're the only one with regrets?" Pentecost's voice is hard now, steady. "Do you think there is anyone here, on this planet, who doesn't think they could have done better?"

None of them had known-

"And what would you have told them? Did you know when they would act, or how? Don't you think your friend Shane misses nights of sleep, thinking of the time she wasted on the Wall of Life project? Do you think Herc has no regrets? Do you think I don't?"

Hermann cannot look at him. He turns away and he can see Newt. He is both close and so far away. They cannot hear him but Newton is shouting, shaking him, fighting to get him breathing and shaking and crying too hard to do it properly.

“When we needed you, you came. We could not have won without you. We need you now, Doctor Gottlieb.”

Hermann looks at Stacker Pentecost, and he is smiling. Just a little. He looks- he looks _proud_ , and the sight cuts open some hidden part of him, the heavy store of guilt and self-hatred he has been carrying with him for the last fifteen years. It bleeds out in a great torrent, like lancing an infected wound, leaving him exhausted and shaking and somehow so light, Hermann wonders if he might drift away.

“I gave you an order, Doctor.”

Hermann nods, and lifts a trembling hand in a salute. Pentecost puts a hand on his chest- against the jut of his ribcage, the knotted muscles of four arms, and pushes him backwards.

He falls.

 

* * *

 

 

Hermann suddenly coughs. Newt starts, but manages to turn Hermann's head just as he hacks up a great gout of half-clotted blood from his lungs. He digs his fingers into Hermann's mouth to clear the remains from his airway before he inhales them again. His hands are shaking so hard he cuts his hand on a row of teeth and barely even notices.

Hermann's breathing is uneven, almost lost under the great shuddering gasps that Newt is only just realising are coming from him. He tries to calm down and the sobs just come harder.

His legs fold up under him, and Newt collapses to the floor and curls into a ball. His eyes burn with tears and when he lifts his hands to wipe them away he can't because his hands are covered in Kaiju Blue -in blood - in _Hermann's_ blood god that's Hermann's blood and it's everywhere he's _covered_ in it and oh god does he have any blood _left_ after that and he nearly died right there in front of Newt and there was nothing Newt could do to stop it but he didn't he came back he's alive he's alive he's alive-

At some point the blank white hideousness of it begins to fade, and Newt starts being able to think through the enormity of what nearly happened. He's kneeling on the floor, clutching one of Hermann's hands in both of his, pressing his head to it as he shudders with huge trembling sobs that feel like they are about to crack his ribcage open.

He manages to force his fingers open, and Hermann's hand drops limp. He's still breathing, deeper and more steadily than before. His eyes are closed. Almost relaxed.

Newt gets up shakily. Almost falls over, his pants are soaked to the knees and his shirt is ruined and his skin is starting to burn from the prolonged contact to the toxic gore.

Newt staggers to the remains of the chemical shower. An Infiltrator had hit one of his specimen jars and the whole thing had shattered in the shower area.

Newt strips offto his underpants stands under the stuttering jets and tries and fails to hold back the sobs once again building in his chest. His hands are shaking so hard they look blurred. He sinks to his haunches in the broken glass and blood and growing chemical stench and grabs hold of his hair and _pulls_. The pain centres him a little. He leaves his clothes where they are and staggers over to where he'd left his jacket hours ago- _hours ago._ Fuck. Hours. Less than a day.

The chair he'd hung it on had been knocked over, but the jacket is miraculously still intact. He pulls it on against the cold of the lab, then wobbles unsteadily back to Hermann.

There's a thermal blanket in the first aid kit, and that goes over Hermann. Newt tucks it carefully around his hands, keeping Hermann's claws from snagging it. Then he lifts Hermann's head- lolling loose, no control- _don't think about brain damage don't think don't_ \- and slides in to sit on the table, resting Hermann's head in his lap. His skin is rough and damp on his bare thighs, the spines prickling against his skin.

Then there's nothing.

He tries to listen for Hermann's breathing but his own is so rough and harsh he can't hear anything else. He puts a hand on Hermann's chest instead, feeling the slight bones rise and fall under his hand. Newt closes his eyes, for a moment, there's nothing else- not the ruin of the lab, the dead bodies splayed everywhere, whatever might be happening outside. There is nothing but this. The sound of their joint breaths and the ribcage rising and falling under his hand. Hermann's heart beating hummingbird-fast.

 

* * *

 

 

He's dragged back to the world by a shrill ringing. Newt jerks awake. Every inch of his body hurts. He's fought this war for fifteen years. He's been chased by Kaiju and threatened by gangsters and hunted by the Masters and he has never, ever felt more defeated and _beaten_ than he does now.

He doesn't want to exist. He wants to curl up in a ball with Hermann and sleep forever. He wants to wake up and find this has all been a nightmare and Hermann will be there beside him and will smile when Newt tells him of his dream and hold him and tell him it's all fine- he's here- it's just a dream-

He stuffs a fist into his mouth to stifle the sob. Hermann is there, he hasn't moved since Newt- fell asleep? Passed out? How long have they even been down here?- He's still breathing steadily, deep and even, muscles lax as though his body is concentrating every resource it has on repairing the terrible damage.

He's bled through the dressing on his stomach. Newt staggers up- only just catching Hermann's head to stop him hitting it on the table- and goes in search of more bandages.

His phone rings again.

Newt stops and stares at the thing. It's lying beside the abandoned remains of his disruptor, buzzing itself in circles. It seems impossible that it could still be here- that there was space in this world for things as banal as phones and phonecalls. Newt stares at it for a few moments before turning his back on it and making his way to the first aid storage.

He cuts the old dressing off- it's so matted with blood he couldn't find the end if he tried. The wound underneath is nauseating, skin lacerated and chewed through to expose raw muscle and the white edge of a hipbone. His left spinneret is completely gone and Newt's horrified eyes can trace out the twisted mess of connecting tissue- the veins and tubes that had funnelled the liquid Hermann had used to spin new skin.

The wound starts bleeding again the moment he removes the pressure of the pad, but sluggishly. Muscle contraction, some part of Newt remembers. The muscles around a wound automatically stiffened to stifle the bloodflow to the affected area. It was one of the many things that made Kaiju so hard to kill.

Just one of them.

Newt chokes off a laugh that comes out close to a howl. "God. You bastards." He barely recognises his own voice. "Thank you. Fuck you. Thank you." His hands trace over the edge of the hideous wound- that would have killed any other creature. It's warm, he can almost feel the activity of the body under his finger- the energy spent to patch itself up, stablise, survive. "They built you tough, didn't they?" He laughs again, tears burning his eyes, hands scrabbling at the table as his legs threaten to collapse under him. "They built you tough."

His head hits the table, he's starting to shake uncontrollably. The lab is freezing. The phone rings again.

Newt takes a deep breath. A second. The room stinks of ammonia, like it used to on his more manic dissecting days- fuck, no wonder Hermann used to flip out; Newton is never going to be able to smell it again without thinking of this-

He pads the woundmore lightly this time, giving it air to heal. He checks the others, but his stitches are good- if ragged- and they are closing. Hermann's arm is at an odd angle, and as he hasn't moved Newt cuts the zipties and folds up a sling and positions it a bit more comfortably along his chest, making sure his breathing isn't impeded.

His phone rings again, and Newt jumps as it is followed by an explosive hammering at the door. Terror explodes in his gut, certain that this is it- the Masters have sent a final pack to finish them both off-

Then the noise redoubles and Herc's voice comes muffled from behind the shutters- "Open up! It's clear, we're here to get you out."

Somehow, that's even worse. Newt backs up against the table, as though he could shield it and - no god fuck please no please not like this _please_ not on top of everything-

"It's okay! We've got Tendo and Alison, they can cut you out! Just stand back, we're coming."

Newt stares at the sparks coming from under the shutters, and remembers great claws breaking through brickwork.

 

* * *

 

 

Herc has his gun out when they push their way in- Herc and Tendo and Alison and a couple of Jaeger pilots Newt has met maybe once

They stare around them at the devastated room. The wreckage of the lab, the bodies lying cold and still, blood congealing in blue-traced black pools across the floor. Newt backed up and frozen against the table.

“Christ.” Herc breathes. He lowers the gun, staring at the disaster. Newt shivers, but doesn’t dare move. Herc’s eyes pass him over- him and Hermann, to focus on the dead. Let him think Hermann is one of them- just don’t look please don’t _please_ don’t-

It wouldn't take much. Just if they started to think about it- if they even _suspected_. Hermann's cover isn't much, it never had to be because everyone knows Kaiju are half a mile tall and smash buildings. No one would think to look for one who’s five-eleven and writes Breach calculations.

“Where’s Hermann?” Alison breathes, still wearing her welding goggles. “Is he-“

And maybe it’s in response to his name, because Hermann chooses this moment to cough- hacking and dry, curling his body as far off the table as his wounds allow.

The six of them freeze, and the breath locks in Newt’s chest- _no_ -

“Is that thing _alive_?” One of the rangers looks revolted, takes a step back.

Newt cowers back, half on top of Hermann as though he could hide him or- or something- “No, I- it’s not-“ He has no idea what to say. The words tangle up behind his teeth and he can’t get them out in any order. He doesn’t know what they ought to be. He doesn’t know if the words even _exist_.

“Get away from that, Doctor.” Herc has his gun in his hand and this is the guy who put a flare in Leatherback’s eye from four hundred meters. He can put a bullet in Hermann’s head from here.

“No.” His mouth is so dry he can barely get the words out. “No- please Herc-“

“Get out of the way.” His voice is steady. He lowers the gun at Newt. At Hermann. The black barrel swallows the room, Newt cannot take his eyes off of it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he is working out trajectory, impact force- if his body would even be enough to stop a bullet, at this range-

“You can’t!” It comes out a screech, raw from his throat. “Please- no don’t!”

“That thing-“ Herc pulls the safety catch back. His voice is low, measured. Cold sweat explodes down Newt’s back, “-killed sixty people out there.“  He waves one of the rangers who tries to push Newt away. He lashes out, loses his balance and hangs on to the table to stay upright-

“Please no-“ There are no other words, he can’t do anything but repeat the same thing over and over like a broken record. “Please Herc!”

“Newt." Tendo pushes the ranger out of the way and steadies him- tries to pull him away so Herc can have a clear shot and _no no fuck no_. "Come on. Where's Hermann? What happened to-"

“ _That’s Hermann!”_ The words are a scream, and Newt isn’t sure they came from him until he realises they must have. “That’s Hermann he stopped those things he saved my life please fuck _don’t shoot_!”

Herc freezes. No one moves. No one breathes. They all think he’s mad and Newt would think he was mad if he wasn’t him but right now he’d rather take a bullet than let Herc make the shot.

Herc doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t lower the gun, but his eyes track the room. Hermann’s clothes are a sodden lump of torn cloth on the floor. Wrecked first from the imprompu shed and then by being trampled in the battle. His stick is lying handle down and stained blue in a pool of blood.

Herc’s looking for a body.

He turns blank eyes on Newt. He doesn't believe it, yet, but it's coming.

"He grew a skin like they did- that's why he could pass but he wasn't working for them-" The words come out in a nonsense stream, impossible to make sense of. "They sent him before Trespasser, as a scout but the Hivemind wasn't working so he ran away-"

Tendo steps closer, eyes avoiding the body on the table. "Breathe, Newt, breathe. It's okay."

It's not. It's so far from fucking okay Newt can't catch his breath and tears burn his eyes again. Hermann is going to kill him if- _when when fucking when_ \- he wakes up. "He killed the Infiltrators- that's how he got hurt so bad. You saw what those things did- do you think I could stop them?"

Beside him, Hermann makes a soft noise- barely more than a breath, his fingers curl and his claws etch new marks into the metal.

"He saved my life." He doesn't know what else to _say_. "They'd have killed me and wrecked the computers and we'd have lost control of the Breach if he wasn't there."

Herc looks between the two of them. Newt fighting to keep from breaking down and _howling_ , Hermann on the table; he looks at his blood-stained face, his claws digging into the tabletop, his wrecked left side. The withered, shrunken muscles of his right leg.

"How long?" His voice is stiff, but finally he lowers the gun. Newt could cry in relief.

"I don't know- twenty years I think? I only knew after we Drifted-"

Herc shuts him up with a raised hand. He looks weirdly calm, where Tendo and Alison are completely poleaxed and the rangers have taken several steps back. "Two years, and you didn't tell anyone? Don't you think-" His voice drops lower, but then steadies."Don't you think we should have known about- this?" He waves a hand at Hermann, and the charnel house of the lab.

"We didn't know they were going to do this!" Newt protests. "Look, we thought they stopped bothering with his- breed after he ran off- we couldn't know-"

"It's not your job to know." Herc's voice is soft. It could etch metal. His eyes are too bright. "Your job is to pass information to us so _we_ can make the decisions. Why didn't you tell us?"

"I didn't think-" He can't catch his breath, the room is airless with the stench of ammonia, Herc is too close. "Look, we had more important things to think about! We had to warn the Jaegers and keep the Shatterdome open and-"

"Two years, and you never found time?" His voice is still low, but there's something in it that makes Newt's throat go dry.

"Herc-" Tendo starts.

"Shut up. Let him answer." His eyes bore into Newt.

"He- I-" Newt trails off, pulls himself together, tries to stand straight. "What does it matter? He didn't want me to tell you because you'd freak-"

"Christ. I wanted to hear you say it." Herc breathes. The gun is out, and this time, it is pointing at Newt. He tries to back away and just pins himself against the table again. "I wanted to hear you admit to what you did." Herc's eyes are too bright- breathing ragged. The barrel of the gun wavers unsteadily. His hands are shaking.

"I didn't-" Newt chokes.

"You hid information that led to sixty people getting killed. Because a Kaiju _spy_ asked you to."

 _"_ But-" The words fail. The words don't exist. "It's not like that." Fuck, it's useless."He wasn't working for them, he was really on our side- he saved my life - we'd all be dead if he wasn't there-"

"He’s one of these _things_ , and you never told anyone!” Herc roars suddenly, deafening in the small space between them.

"He worked with us for years!" Newt digs his nails into the tabletop, trembling. "He coded the Jaegers-"

"He told them they could go through the Breach." Herc is shaking. He seems to be staring past them, into something only he can see. "They trusted him- My _son_ -"

“We didn’t know!” Newt almost wails. Please please _please_ \- “Only when we Drifted and-“

"Why should I believe you?" Herc's eyes are wild, skin shining. "They died because we listened to you-" His finger tightens on the trigger.

"No! Stop-" Newt throws a hand up, a useless flesh barrier-

“Wait-” Tendo grabs the gun. Herc snarls- tries to pull free- “Wait!” They wrestle for the weapon, Newt can't even move, shoulders shaking, the first sob tearing its way free. Please. Please. Please. No more. Let this stop please now _please_ -

Tendo manages to get the gun from Herc, Alison grabs it. “If he’s right-“

“If he’s right he’s a goddamn spy-“

“We saved your fucking lives!” Newt screams. He shudders, shakes. “He built your _Jaegers_ \- why the fuck would he-“

“ _You are a traitor_.” The words knock the breath from Newt’s lungs; steal whatever words he had found.

Herc catches his breath. Newt finds his. “I saved your lives.” The words come out pathetic, a whimper.

Herc stares at him. “Give me the goddamn gun.” Alison steps back. “Give me the gun!” He roars.

No one moves. Tendo and Alison back away. The Jaeger pilots look lost, staring between Newt – still wearing nothing but his jacket and underpants – and Hermann.

Hermann stirs, his breaths come ragged. His eyes are moving behind their lids. Herc stares at him, then at Newt. “You are a traitor. He’s a spy. Do you know what the penalty is for that?”

Newt shudders, feels sick.

“Herc, stop.” Alison speaks up.

“You ought to be dead. Both of you. And you!” Herc turns to Tendo and Alison, the rangers. “If you won’t let me get rid of- of _this_ -“ he waves at Hermann’s still body – “get them both down to the brig. We can do this properly later.”

 

* * *

 

 

Newt doesn't know how he manages to pick Hermann up. He's skinny, but holy fuck he's heavy. His arms shake with his weight and the only reason he manages to keep Hermann up is that if he couldn't do it- he doesn't want to give Herc any more opportunities to get a gun.

Hermann curls up in his arms, head butting under Newt's chin. His eyes are moving in REM. He's in there, which brings up some small spark of hope. Yeah, Newt grits his teeth, shoulders a burning knot of pain at the strain, maybe he'd get to wake up in time for their execution. Maybe they'll televise it, and his Mom will get to watch.

The brig is nothing but a caged-off room with a bench and toilet in it. Newt manages to get Hermann to the bench. He curls on his side, hunches over his injuries, spines raising, his back to Newt.

Newt runs his fingers over his ribcage, easing him back a little to keep him from pulling out his stitches. He takes his jacket off and folds it over Hermann, smoothing it over the sculpted structure of his shoulders. Then he sits down the floor, bare concrete freezing cold on his naked legs. The cold works its way in until he's shivering. Then there's nothing else. Nothing but the cold. And the silence.

He closes his eyes. Maybe if he can't see, it won't be there. Maybe if he tries hard enough, the world will just disappear, black out. Not exist. Just for long enough for everything to start making sense again.

He might have fallen asleep. Passed out. Maybe his brain has finally had enough and shut down. He wakes up stiff and aching, every muscle tense with cold and cramped- "Newt?"

He jumps. It's Tendo. He's alone, unarmed. Staring through the bars wide eyed. At both of them. Hermann on the bench. Newt all but naked, all the tattoos and Hermann's bite marks bright for all to see.

"Look man," His voice sounds like a small, sick Kaiju, and feels like sandpaper, "Neither of us really feels like the freakshow treatment right now." A lump starts building in his throat, he tries to swallow.

"I just- I brought you some clothes." Tendo holds up a bundle. "I thought- it's cold down here."

Newt gets up. Everything hurts. He has to catch himself on the jailbars to stay upright. Tendo's brought his jeans and a shirt and hoodie and two pairs of socks. He could cry. The hoodie's soft and worn and warm, even touching it makes him feel better.

"Newt?" Tendo hesitates, then. "What the hell happened up there?"

It startles a laugh out of him and that's worse than actually crying, harsh and wet and awful. "Hermann's a Kaiju. He nearly died killing those things. Herc's gonna have us shot." This seems to cover the basics. He laughs hysterically and stuffs his hand into his mouth to stifle it.

"No one's executing you." Tendo doesn't sound like he's convinced himself. Newt pulls the hoodie on, shivers as he starts to warm up. "Is that- is that really him?"

Newt slides down, sits on the floor. Tendo crouches next to him. "Yeah." He's so _tired_. They've done all this and come all this way and tomorrow they're probably both going to die anyway. "He managed to run off. The Kaiju have-" Newt taps the side of his head, and remembers the feeling of alien hands behind the Infiltrators' eyes. "The Masters get inside their heads, through the Hivemind, and aim them to the cities- drive them crazy. But it wasn't working right when they sent Hermann through so he- got loose. Ran off."

"And never told anyone?" Tendo's voice is soft, but the accusation makes Newt's bruised hackles rise.

"Told them what?" His hands flap in exasperation. "He'd been living at the bottom of a pit! It wasn't like they told him anything. They wanted him to go out and scout around. Like he knew why or what for."

"Hey, man, it's okay." Tendo touches his shoulder through the bars and just that- just having someone touch him in comfort- makes his chest tighten again. "I'm just planning what to say to Herc. I won't let him hurt you- either of you." The second is a bit hesitant. Tendo's eyes dart to Hermann.

Newt meets his gaze. "It's him, you know. Like, if you go into his records they all sort of loop around before 2008- that's when he got here. He's hacked the systems so he's never attended a doctor's visit. He takes every few weeks off to go to his apartment and grow a new skin. If he hadn't Drifted with me the second time, I'd be gone." Worse than dead. "They were waiting for me in there."

"Hey." Tendo squeezes his shoulder. "It's okay. I believe you. It's pretty goddamn weird, but I believe you."

It... it's a relief. A huge weight off. To have someone in his corner, when he's so burnt out and hurting and Hermann can't even help himself. He nods, roughly.

"Can I- get you anything, either of you?"

Thinking is like wading through molasses, like lifting impossible weight. His brain is spasming, firing all the wrong neurons. "I need- I've got to change his bandages. First aid kit. A good one. Some blankets. Can you get my meds? They're at Hermann's place."

"No can do brother." Tendo tries to smile. "We had about three Kaiju land on that stretch an hour ago. It's gone."

"Fuck." Great. Just fucking great. Homeless on top of everything.

"Something to eat?" Tendo prods him.

Holy shit, of course- "You're a genius." Newt grips the bars, tries to line his thoughts up."Right. I think they didn't get into my stores- in my cold store I've got these boxes- about this big- they're food I make for Hermann. I'll need like three-" As much as he can stuff down Hermann's throat anyway. He needs to regain strength fast-

"I mean for you." Tendo presses.

"Yeah, okay. That's fine." Newt brushes it off. "Just get those boxes, okay? And the first aid kit and blankets and stuff, and maybe some pillows if we're going to be down here-" for how long? Newt shoves the thought away. Tendo hesitates. "Can you get that? I know it's a lot-" Newt starts.

"No man, it's fine. I'll get Alison to give me a hand. We'll get it down here."

Newt scoots back to lean against the bench. Hermann's arm is hanging off it and he pulls it around himself and closes his eyes and tries to pretend he's being held. Hermann's fingers twitch against his chest. His claws are the dingy blue of old blood and so caked with it that they can't retract properly. Newt closes his eyes and lets himself rock, just a little, back and forth. He'll have to see if the 'dome hospital carries any meds- not his preferred mix of course, he made those himself, but just enough to keep the worst of it off, keep him grounded-

Until Herc decides if they're going to live or not.

He gets dressed, and settles Hermann a bit more comfortably. His bandages are showing blue, but it's a slow progression, and Newt's hoping that first aid kit's going to have some scissors because several of the smaller injuries are already healing and he's going to have to cut the stitches out soon-

There's noise from upstairs- ground level in the Shatterdome. Tendo. "Look guys, just let me down there. I'm not going to-"

"It isn't you Tendo." And fuck- _fuck_ that's Mako. Mako fucking Mori. "Herc said no one is to go down for their own safety."

"You can't blame him, after what happened here-" Oh great, tag team Kaiju killer, Raleigh Beckett. "-I can't let you. We've lost too many already."

"Did Herc tell you _who_ we've got down there?"

"Yeah. Look, I can't believe it either, but Herc said-"

"Did Marshall Hansen sound in his right mind to you?"

Newt snorts, it comes out as a bit wet.

"Mister Choi, Marshall Hansen told us it was a Kaiju. The same kind that entered the Shatterdome. Is this true? Because if it is we cannot let you go down there-

"Oh yeah? You and what army?" A new voice. Newt blinks.

"Ms Shane-"

"That's _Doctor_ to you, Beckett. Now, get out of the way and give me those keys. Or I'll- sit on you, or something. Shoo."

Newt starts to grin. It feels so strange it almost hurts.

"The Marshall-"

Li breaks in, another of Hermann's crew. "We are technically consultants, Ranger Mori, so not in fact under the Marshall's jurisdiction-" The conversation dies away into Japanese too muffled for Newt to make out, and Diane saves him the trouble anyway.

"Look, if we get eaten you can say I told you so, but right now we're going down with the keys. Hand them over. Now."

There's a clatter on the stairs, and Tendo, Alison and _the entire science division_ crashes into the brig.

 

* * *

 

 

He is underwater. Floating.The pain hovers some distance off but there, waiting. He can taste it on his tongue, feel it flicker against his skin. It is drawing closer the further he rises to the surface. He can feel its tendrils creeping into him, inch by inch, settling smug and hot and heavy in his left side, his lower right arm, a thousand blurring points across his body.

The voices filter in, unsteadily, distorted. The pain makes everything hazy.

"- _Jesus Christ Newt-"_

_"-ut up, what are you doing here-"_

_"-not the only one who knows how to hack security cams-"_

They grow louder as he drifts up, while his body- perversely, gets heavier. How can he still be floating up when he is so heavy? He cannot move, his muscles scream with the effort of holding his bones in place. They clench and knot and how can he not have be crushed by his own weight- neutron stars cannot be as heavy-

_"-ing it here, carefu-"_

_"-going to wake up?"_

_"-help me with-"_

Hands on him, impossibly strong to lift him, turn him. Sharp needle points in his back. The hollow, draining agony dug into his stomach- so deep he could almost scream- feels his jaws move with it- but its claws have been pulled, its teeth are blunted. The pain is the hot, growling grind of healing tissue, his body beginning the slow, miserable process of patching him back together, yet again.

_"- is he moving-"_

_"holy god those claws!"_

_"Hermann? Hermann?"_

Newt.

Hermann opens his eyes.

The world is a confused blur of noise and colour. He stinks of blood, and his mouth is thick with the reek of chemicals- one of Newt's concoctions- foul and reeking and unimaginably wonderful after the taste of gore and bone and entrails.

He coughs. The reverberations pulls at the knot of pain in his gut andhe chokes, tries to swallow. Newt puts a bottle to his mouth and he drinks ravenously. Sucks in breath, focuses on Newt's face. He's crying. "Did we- win?" He barely recognises his own voice. His teeth feel loose, torn free in the battle.

"Herms, I don't even fucking know." He's laughing and crying at once. Hermann tries to reach for him and sees Li- what is she doing here? - flinch back in alarm. Newt takes his hand, grips it with both of his. "Tendo? Did we win? Hermann wants to know."

Tendo Choi's face appears in his field of vision, pale and drawn. "Don't really know. Nothing more's come through, last I checked, but the Breach is still open- Hermann, um-" he looks at him, at him and away and back as though he cannot bear to look at him too long. "I hope you get better soon, because we could really use you to help us close it."

It's forced joviality, harsh and insincere. Hermann would call him on it, but- "Nothing- more?"

"We had eight come through before Newt's blast scared them off." Tendo rubs the back of his neck, more natural now he's talking business. "About half of them killed each other- wrecked your place while doing it- and the other four ran off; we're trying to track them- there's three in the Pacific _somewhere,_ but god knows really, they're in some deep rift and aren't coming out, and number four's making tracks across half of Asia. They're trying to make a Jaeger drop, but it's too fast."

"I told you it would work." Newt is grinning. Too bright, too hard. Hermann squeezes his hand. "I _told you_. I was right, wasn't I?"

"Yes." It costs nothing to admit it. "You were right. Well done." He pulls his hands in, to bring them to his chest and stops.

His hand is blue, clawed, three fingered. One of four, the others flung across a lathe-thin body which has nothing human about it. And Tendo is here. And Alison. And Shane and Li and what looks like the entire science division.

And beyond that- outside the bars of what Hermann is only now realising is the brig- are Mori and Beckett. Faces set, drawn. Armed. Waiting for him to strike. Waiting for him to attack these people.

Newt sees his face- feels the horror. Draws his head in to his chest and puts his arms around him and even though the motion hurts it feels so _good_.

"I've got you." Newt murmurs, lips brushing the bare skin of his scalp. "I've got you babe. Fuck them. I don't care. Screw the lot of them. We won. We won this fucking war for them and fuck them if they don't believe it. They're not gonna get you." Voice growing thick. Hermann lifts his head and nuzzles Newt's cheek, the tears sea-bright on his lips. "I promise, baby. I promise."

"They'll have to go through us." Shane crosses her arms. The rest of their team closes ranks- some reluctantly, some with more fear of him than the armed rangers. But they are standing together. Newt's arms are warm around him, and for a moment Hermann remembers- or hears, Pentecost.

 _We need you now, Doctor Gottlieb_.

He turns to Tendo. "How much of my equipment can you get down here?"

He is gratified to see Newt's mouth drop open in outrage.

 

* * *

 

 

_Beyond the Breach._

_In the Anteverse._

_The moment passes- slowly, like water through oil, a body through sand. Breath through blood. It passes. The howling. The sound that was no sound at all but the far end of silence, so intense and consuming it was nearly deafening._

_But it is past, and the Masters open their eyes._

_The groundis still trembling beneath them with the force of the blast, but their bodies are unharmed, unbroken. The Breach gapes wide before them, and their forces are untouched. The ranked battalions of flesh and bone, hundreds of thousands strong, await their thoughts. Their Order._

_The Masters rise, unsteady on the shaking ground, and prepare to give it. A word- thought- deed- the same. Destroy._

_But the Order does not come. It flies and is lost to the winds, a single, brief flash of thought, come and gone in less than a moment- worthless and brief as the scrabblings of their constructions in the Hive- those whispering, pleading, wailing things._

_The Masters look at themselves and they are alone._

_Alone. One. Broken off. A singular piece of the massive whole that was all their thoughts orders minds ALL fused to one the many as one the one in many bodies-_

_And it is alone._

_It. Master. Isolated. Alone. The ALL is so close but out of reach- to touch- yes- to reach out and become whole again- One. The ALL._

_It turns on the ground- does it shake harder?- and sees others. Not the ALL. But Masters. Broken, like it is. If it reaches them- touches. Then they will be two. More. Three. More yet. The ALL. It must-_

_And the ground shakes so hard that it is thrown prone. It looks up._

_The darkness is blue with a hundred thousand stars. Shifting, moving fretfully, restless in their orbits. They blaze down on the Master. A hundred thousand, a thousand thousand- uncounted, uncountable. The ground shakes harder as claws dig into the solid rock which no longer obeys its lost Masters' commands._

_The Master throws an Order at the stars; they jerk, circle, but it might as well have been a stone._

_The Master stares up at the eyes of a hundred thousand Kaiju. Their claws drawing them close, their growls shaking the ground. It stares. It opens its mouth._

 

_It is one of the fortunate ones. It only just has time to scream._


End file.
